Forty-three hours after Stanley Howard was arrested, Chicago police detectives got the evidence that would help them send Howard to Death Row: a confession.

In seven double-spaced pages of questions and answers transcribed by a court reporter on Nov. 3, 1984, Howard implicated himself in the murder of a 42-year-old man that May. Then Howard signed the confession.

Moments later, Howard began to make what would become years of claims that police had tortured him to get the confession. Officers, he said, had kicked him, punched him and placed a plastic typewriter cover over his head--and Howard was able to produce medical reports supporting his allegations.

Still, faced with denials from the detectives, a Cook County judge refused to throw out the confession, and in 1987, a jury convicted Howard and condemned him to die.

Seven years later, in a stinging rebuke, an investigator for the Police Department's Office of Professional Standards concluded detectives had physically abused Howard during his interrogation and lied to cover it up.

But Howard, 37, remains under a death sentence, one of 10 Death Row inmates put there through the work of one of the state's most discredited groups of police officers--former Burnside Area Cmdr. Jon Burge and some of his detectives on Chicago's South Side. Among the accusations leveled at the Burge regime: that detectives, from the late 1970s to the late 1980s, beat suspects, shocked them with electric wires and put guns to their heads or in their mouths in an effort to get confessions.

While abuse during the Burge regime is finally being acknowledged in some quarters, prosecutors and police never have re-examined the Death Row cases linked to Burge to answer the question of whether innocent people have been sentenced to death.

For Howard, the abuse finding by OPS--the department's civilian arm charged with investigating police brutality--has done little to help him in his quest to be freed from Death Row. Rather than using the internal inquiry to try to determine if Howard's conviction was a miscarriage of justice, a top police official shelved the report and the department only reluctantly turned it over to Howard's lawyers.

In building a case for trial, the work of police serves as the foundation. When their investigations are tainted by credible charges that confessions were coerced, the integrity of a conviction suffers, and questions of guilt or innocence linger after the trial ends. In death-penalty cases, police misconduct undermines society's expectations that its harshest punishment will be meted out only with certainty.

For police and prosecutors, few pieces of evidence close a case better than a confession. After all, juries place a remarkable degree of faith in confessions; few people can imagine suspects would admit guilt if they were innocent. But, in Illinois, confessions have proved faulty.

Howard's case, his lawyers say, may be one example. As in many of the other Burge cases that resulted in a death sentence, without a confession there is little evidence against Howard--certainly no physical evidence, such as fingerprints, and no weapon. And in the years since Howard's trial, new information that could help reverse his conviction has emerged.

Criminal suspects frequently realize the damage they have done to themselves by confessing, then falsely claim that the police abused them. But what separate many of the Burge cases from others, and what make the accusations so troublesome, are their rich detail and numbing repetitiveness.

A federal judge and the Illinois Appellate Court have made rulings that, in often harsh language, suggest the alleged abuse under Burge warrants additional investigation and threatens to taint trial verdicts.

"It is now common knowledge," U.S. District Judge Milton Shadur wrote in one Death Row inmate's appeal in March, "that in the early- to mid-1980s, Chicago Police Cmdr. Jon Burge and many of the officers working under him regularly engaged in the physical abuse and torture of prisoners to extract confessions."

Citing internal police accounts, lawsuits and appeals, Shadur said that torture occurred as an "established practice, not just on an isolated basis."

Burge was fired from the department in 1993 for torture in one case. Reached at his Florida home, he declined to comment.

Police tactics scrutinized

Charges of police misconduct--from manufacturing evidence to concealing information that could help clear suspects--are central to at least half of the 12 Illinois cases where a man sentenced to death was exonerated.

In two of those cases, neither of which is linked to Burge or his detectives, men whose confessions put them on Death Row were cleared and set free.

Ronald Jones had long claimed he confessed to the 1985 murder and rape of a South Side woman only because Chicago police beat him repeatedly. After nearly eight years on Death Row, he was exonerated by DNA evidence earlier this year.

Gary Gauger claimed his unsigned confession to the 1993 murders of his parents in rural McHenry County was the product of coercion by sheriff's detectives who questioned Gauger for some 21 hours until he broke down and agreed to a scenario the detectives suggested.

Gauger, too, was set free, and a federal grand jury indicted two members of a motorcycle gang on charges connected to the slayings. One of them already has pleaded guilty.

Like in the Jones and Gauger cases, the thread that runs through the Burge cases is the charge police made up or coerced a confession.

In the case of Madison Hobley, who was convicted of setting a 1987 fire that killed his wife, young son and five other people in the South Side apartment building where he lived, the confession detectives said they obtained is not documented, though it is the centerpiece of the case.

Hobley claimed detectives beat and tried to suffocate him.

The officer who got the confession, a veteran homicide detective, testified he threw away notes of the statement after they got wet and torn.

In the case of Aaron Patterson, a gang leader convicted of a 1986 double murder in the South Chicago neighborhood, Patterson's allegations of torture are preserved in an unusual way.

Using the end of a paper clip, Patterson scratched a message into the steel bench in an interrogation room, accusing the officers of trying to suffocate him with a plastic typewriter cover--a message an investigator for the defense team later got a court order to photograph.

Patterson told judges that he had been abused, even yelling his claims of torture in court while his attorney told him to keep quiet.

Other troubling questions have surfaced. A critical witness, Marva Hall, told the Tribune last year that police and prosecutors forced her to make up a story to implicate Patterson. Hall, a teenager at the time of the murders, said a prosecutor threatened to put her in jail if she didn't cooperate.

Ronald Kitchen's confession to the 1988 drug-related murders of five people, according to his attorneys, was made after he was beaten so severely by Burge's detectives he had to wear a sling support for his groin for several weeks. Kitchen, who has been on Death Row for nine years, complained of the alleged abuse immediately to his lawyers and filed a complaint with OPS.

The evidence against Kitchen included the testimony of a jailhouse informant who said that Kitchen told him he committed the murders. But when police brought the informant to Cook County Jail to make several tape-recorded calls to Kitchen, Kitchen never mentioned the murders.

Leroy Orange claims that his confession in the murders of four people in 1984 was made only after detectives put an airtight bag over his head, squeezed his testicles, then shocked him on his arms and in his rectum.

"They kept asking me questions about the murders, but I couldn't provide them with any answers," Orange, who has been on Death Row for more than 14 years, said during an interview. "So they started in on me. When I couldn't handle it no more, I agreed to go along with the program."

No physical evidence linked Orange to the murders or the fire that was set to cover them up, according to court records. His half-brother, Leonard Kidd, testified that he committed the murders alone, though in earlier statements, which he said were coerced, he had implicated Orange. Kidd, who led police to the knives used in the murder, later pleaded guilty and is on Death Row.

Because interrogations take place behind closed doors, defendants have a hard time proving police brutality. Rare is the abuse claim that results in a confession being thrown out--in any sort of case.

That is in large part because the courts have made proving abuse extremely difficult. The burden first is on defendants, who must show they were injured while in the custody of police. That can be difficult because suspects rarely have definitive evidence, such as medical reports from immediately before and after a police interrogation.

If defendants can overcome that obstacle, the burden then shifts to the prosecution. It must show that police did not inflict injuries intentionally in an effort to get a confession. The prosecution cannot simply deny the charges.

Dozens of people who were questioned by Burge and his detectives--first at the now-closed Burnside Area headquarters and later at Calumet Area--have since claimed they were coerced into confessing by detectives under his command.

In response to the growing number of abuse allegations, OPS investigator Michael Goldston sought to determine if there indeed was a pattern. In 1990, in a report that bears his name, he cataloged more than 50 instances of alleged mistreatment under Burge and concluded that torture was "methodical" and "systematic."

But he did not fully investigate each of the cases to determine whether the specific allegations were true. And it is not the role of OPS to reinvestigate the guilt or innocence of suspects who allege police misconduct. Since then, however, OPS has sustained--or found credible--allegations against officers in seven Burge-related cases, including Howard's.

In most cases, suspects told similar stories of being whisked into one of the tiny, second-floor interrogation rooms and being handcuffed to a ring on the wall. Then, during many hours of questioning and abuse, they were forced to confess.

The City of Chicago has paid out more than $1 million to settle numerous civil claims that grew out of the alleged abuse, acknowledging in some instances that police abuse took place under Burge. But the city and police have never undertaken a full-scale investigation that would determine if Burge's tactics led to wrongful convictions, even though several cases still are making their way through the courts.

Following an Illinois Appellate Court order, a Cook County judge has recently been hearing evidence about convicted murderer Darrell Cannon's claim of torture by Burge's detectives. And other hearings are scheduled over the next year or so, making this one of the most active periods for Burge-related cases.

Only one officer has been punished: Burge himself.

The case that led to his firing occurred in February 1982, when brothers Andrew and Jackie Wilson were arrested in connection with the murders of two Chicago police officers. The brothers were convicted. Jackie Wilson received a life sentence, and Andrew Wilson was sentenced to death.

Five years later, the Illinois Supreme Court overturned Andrew Wilson's conviction and death sentence because prosecutors could not counter overwhelming evidence he had been tortured by Burnside Area officers.

Wilson claimed he was shocked with electric wires, smothered with a plastic bag, repeatedly punched and kicked, then burned against a hot radiator--injuries that were well-documented in hospital reports.

Conflicting accounts

Stanley Howard's case began to unfold at a time when complaints about Burge and his crew were falling on deaf ears.

Before dawn on May 20, 1984, Oliver Ridgell was shot and killed as he and Tecora Mullen sat in Ridgell's Chevrolet sedan. The car was parked in front of a brick apartment building at 1343 W. 92nd St., around the corner from Mullen's home.

Ridgell and Mullen both were married, but they had been having an affair for some time, according to police reports and interviews with Ridgell's widow and Mullen's husband.

According to Howard's confession, he approached the driver's side of the car. Mullen testified Howard tapped the window with the gun and, when Ridgell opened it just a little, asked for a match.

Mullen testified that when Ridgell told Howard to move along, Howard stepped back and shot through the rear driver's-side window. A bullet passed through Ridgell's seat belt and struck him in the back. Mullen, still in the passenger seat, took command of the vehicle and drove away.

Ridgell died later that morning during surgery.

Police interviewed tenants of the apartment buildings near the scene. Most of the tenants were asleep and heard one shot, if anything. No one reported hearing the two or three shots described in the confession.

A few tenants heard some conversation.

Earleen White told Howard's appellate attorneys that she heard the assailant say before the shooting, "I told you I'd get you." In a videotaped statement taken before she died, in which defense attorneys and prosecutors questioned her, White said she told detectives what she heard and would have testified to it at a trial.

That is not reflected in police reports, however. Instead, the words "Heard nothing, didn't see anyone running," are scrawled by her name and address in a report documenting a canvass of the building.

Another tenant, Kay Johnson, told the Tribune she heard a woman say, "Don't hurt him. Just take me home." She said she also told that to police.

Paul Dengel, Howard's lead attorney on appeal, said these so-called earwitnesses suggest a scenario far different from the police account of the shooting, one that points to someone who knew Ridgell or Mullen. There is no evidence in police and court records that Howard was acquainted with either of them.

"People heard this murder go down, and they heard things totally inconsistent if Stanley was involved," Dengel said. "If Stanley was involved, it was some random act of street violence. . . . What they heard is something between people who knew each other."

Mullen, who told police she would be able to identify the killer, looked at police books with photographs of suspects but was unable to say any of them resembled Ridgell's killer. She also was unable to help a police sketch artist draw a composite of the perpetrator.

Police got a break six months later when they arrested Howard after a short chase on the South Side and charged him with a series of crimes: the holdup of two Chicago police officers, a home invasion, rape and deviate sexual assault.

Detectives noted that Howard liked to approach his alleged victims while they were in a car, and began to consider him a potential suspect in the Ridgell slaying, said former Cook County Assistant State's Atty. Jack Steed, who helped prosecute Howard.

The detectives called in Mullen. Viewing a police lineup, Mullen could not make a positive identification. She did, however, offer a tentative identification, saying Howard "looked like" Ridgell's killer, according to police reports.

After the lineup, the detectives questioned Howard. They gave him coffee and something to eat, they said, and even let him use a telephone. He then confessed to shooting Ridgell. According to police, Howard even accompanied them to the murder scene and re-enacted the shooting.

Howard's account is dramatically different. Howard said he confessed only because police were torturing him. He acknowledged he went to the murder scene with detectives but said they told him to run so they could shoot him and claim he attempted to escape.

What distinguishes Howard's claim from so many others is that he was taken to hospitals before and after detectives got a confession, allowing him to offer the corroboration of abuse courts require. After the police chase that led to his arrest, Howard complained of injuries and was taken to a hospital.

Then, after he confessed, he was again taken to a hospital. Medical records show that he had new injuries, including bruises on his left leg that match his description of police mistreatment.

Investigation reopened

During pretrial hearings, Detectives James Lotito and Ronald Boffo and Sgt. John Byrne all said they treated Howard well during questioning.

When Howard's attorney sought to suppress the confession, Judge John J. Mannion denied the motion, allowing the jurors to hear the disputed statement.

Mannion said in an interview recently that he was still skeptical of Howard's claims of mistreatment. "Are you going to believe Stanley over three police officers?" asked Mannion, who like many trial judges instructs jurors that they are not to give police officers more credibility than other people. "Come on. This is just an allegation."

Mannion is a former police officer who worked on the South Side, although never with any of the detectives who handled the investigation that led to Howard's arrest. He also is a former Cook County assistant state's attorney.

Before the murder trial, Mannion had sentenced Howard to a 28-year prison term after a jury convicted him of stealing badges and pistols from two Chicago police officers, including one who once was on a task force with Mannion. Mannion also had sentenced Howard to a 50-year term for the rape and home invasion.

Howard's attorney tried unsuccessfully to have Mannion removed from the murder case before the trial began because he believed the judge was biased against Howard. Mannion said that he could be fair, and another judge sided with Mannion.

Steed, the prosecutor in the case, said he does not believe Howard was abused, although he said he has come to accept some of the allegations about Burge's detectives.

"You bring the police in and ask about it and they say, 'No, it didn't happen like that,' " he said. "What are you going to do? The argument we used was, 'If they beat him up, wouldn't they get a better confession?'

"I'm sure some of these guys gave people a crack or two," Steed added. "But Stanley's a vicious guy, and I'm pretty secure in my belief it's a good case."

Without physical evidence, the thrust of the case was Howard's confession and Mullen's identification.

At trial, her story shifted. Where once she had been hesitant about identifying Howard, she now told the jury she was positive Howard was the killer. She said, too, that her lineup identification had been positive.

In brief interviews, Mullen and her husband, Brickhouse Mullen, said she was in an alcoholic haze in the years before and after Ridgell was shot. Asked about her testimony, she would not say if she would still identify Howard as Ridgell's killer.

"I drank a fifth of liquor every day for 10 years," Tecora Mullen said before cutting short an interview. "I couldn't hardly remember anything."

The jury never heard from the so-called earwitnesses--the tenants who heard a woman screaming at the killer. They also did not learn of the Mullen-Ridgell affair; Mannion would not allow the attorneys to mention it.

Howard was convicted and sentenced to death.

Six years later, shortly after Burge's 1993 firing, OPS reopened nine cases, including Howard's. This time, based on new interviews, OPS found that Howard was more believable than the three officers under Burge's command.

OPS investigator Leutie Lawrence said the accounts of the police and prosecutors were "fraught with contradictions and discrepancies which damage their credibility" and sustained charges against Lotito, Boffo and Byrne.

Howard's abuse claims also are supported by two people at the Calumet Area station while he was being questioned, according to Howard's lawyers in his appeal. Theodore Hawkins was being questioned in an adjacent interrogation room on suspicion of aggravated battery. He said he glimpsed a bruised, battered Howard and heard him scream.

"He was beaten up. He was afraid. He was, like, in a state of shock," Hawkins, who served a 4-year term for burglary and now is an appliance delivery man, told the Tribune. Hawkins said he also saw a detective leave the interrogation room carrying what he believed was a typewriter cover.

Byron Hopkins, the man who police said gave Howard the gun used in the murder, was in the station as well. He also said he saw Howard bruised and battered. Hopkins denies that he gave Howard the gun. He was never charged.

Lotito, who still works in Calumet Area, declined to comment. Boffo, who is retired, did not return repeated messages. Attempts to reach Byrne, who also was an attorney but was later disbarred, were unsuccessful.

Among other violations, the Illinois Attorney Registration and Disciplinary Commission cited Byrne for going to the home of a dissatisfied client armed with a handgun and lying frequently to clients and the court.

The OPS reinvestigation at first did nothing for Howard, who has been on Death Row at the Pontiac Correctional Center for 12 1/2 years. That's because the files sat in the OPS offices for several years. Consequently, none of the officers could be disciplined.

Last year, Thomas Needham, counsel to Chicago Police Supt. Terry Hillard, learned of the OPS findings in the Howard case and several others and decided to shelve them, though the determinations were potentially critical to the victims' appeals. His reason: They were old.

This past summer, however, prosecutors agreed that a hearing should be held to allow a judge to determine whether the OPS findings require a broader examination of how detectives got Howard's statement.

"No one saw him being bagged, but people saw everything short of that," said Dengel, Howard's attorney. "They heard him screaming. They saw his face all puffy. They saw an officer walk away with a typewriter cover.

"It's real hard for a fair-minded person to deny that Stanley Howard was tortured."

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